


Midnight Snack

by Dogsled



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drug Use, Explicit Language, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-14
Updated: 2006-08-14
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled
Summary: A gift for Darkstorm, who is a dedicated, fic hungry reviewer, who's kept my stories going when I've been losing hope. Harry gets woken up in the middle of the night and taken to Dumbledore's office. But nobody will tell him what's going on! First person Snarry PWP





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me; neither do any of the related characters, etc. I'm just borrowing them, but I promise to put them back in the box...almost unharmed.

I don’t know for sure why Dumbledore’s woken me up in the middle of the night with the command to follow him to his office. I’m not really aware of my friends sleeping on undisturbed as we hurry out of the room, creaking over the floorboards as we go, my oversized pajamas hanging off me like loose skin and threatening to trip me over at every step.

All I know on the way is that the steel grey flagstones under my feet are as cold as ice, and I’m sure my toes would fall off if I wasn’t walking on the bottom of my trouser legs. I’m so glad I was asleep when Dumbledore came in: it’s all I can think about. Luckily the dreams I’d been having about Ginny Weasley had woken me up before they aroused anyone else. Mmm…aroused. Boy, that had been a good dream.

In fact, it’s not until we get to the headmaster’s office that I’m really aware of anything. A mug of tea is thrust into my hands, warming at least them up, though Dumbledore’s fires are burning merrily, and that helps too. I drink it unquestioningly, thinking that it tasted somehow of cinnamon, but unable to put my finger on it with the sluggish state of my awareness. I might as well be asleep for the extent of my cognitive ability. Or dead, for that matter…

None the less, I swallow down the hot tea and the caffeine in it has a distinctly awakening effect on me. Everything around me is crisper now. I can identify the flames of the candles, instead of just the fact that there is a light source somewhere in the room. They’re glinting on all Dumbledore’s trinkets around the room, and I smile, the familiarity calming me.

Even when Snape comes into the room so fast I might have think he’d apparated, I don’t make a movement. I’m so amazingly calm… What’s that term I heard Dudley using the other day? Oh yeah, “Spaced out.” I’m spaced out now… What was it in that tea?

Snape looks at Dumbledore and says, “How much calming draught did you give him, Albus?” And Dumbledore just smiled benignly…and then leaves. How can he just leave me here with him?! But I find I’m not as angry with Snape as usual. 

I wander around the room aimlessly and fiddle with various trinkets, and laugh at one particular one with a handle shaped like a rudimentary dildo. It’s not my fault…I’m far away now. Calming draught would explain it. I laugh at my own clarity and drop down into Dumbledore’s big, velvet covered chair, to the sound of ‘tsk’ing from the portraits above.

“Do you know what this says?” Snape asks me, and I lift my head, looking over the desk towards him. 

I smile and tilt my head to look over the top of my glasses, even though I can’t see very clearly when I do that, and I lean forwards, touching my fingers together into a steeple. “Would you care for some tea, Severus?” I ask, “It’s really very good.”

And I see Snape’s face briefly drop in confusion, and I laugh as he gets angry and pushes a piece of paper in front of my nose. “It’s in your handwriting, Potter. It got handed in instead of homework.”

Squinting, I look down at the piece of paper, narrowing my eyes to try and read it. My glasses fall off, but I don’t notice, only look back up at Snape and say “I can’t read it.” There…that winds him up. He picks it up and reads it, and I only half listen. It’s like a story, a badly written story. I write much better stories like that…

But Snape doesn’t care. His terse voice bites it out, and I can tell vaguely what it’s about. Him, mostly… Him stretched out over his desk, naked and filthy…doing dirty, dirty things. I laugh. 

“My” description has “me” going up to him where he wriggles, “punishing” him and then, unspeakably, fucking him. It’s disgusting…and besides, anyone with half a mind could tell that if anyone was going to do the fucking, it’d be him.

I relax in the chair and play with the trinkets, not really listening to him. When he’s quite done I look up, and he’s red in the face; but I can’t really tell why. I raise an eyebrow and lean back far enough for the chair to balance on its back legs. It falls, and I go sprawling onto the floor and roll about laughing harder. There’s nothing funny about it. My back hurts, and Snape is standing above me, utterly furious. Still I laugh until my belly hurts. Then I stop, because that is a far from pleasant experience.

I feel so far away. Snape says something, but I’m listening even less than before. It’s something like. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” I sit up, bleary eyed with tears, and look up at him, trying to be as serious as I can. And I say “I’m right, I think. You do need a good fuck.” I don’t know why I say it. But Snape goes redder. I don’t know if it’s possible…or if there’s a change of lighting, but he certainly changed colour at least, and I scramble to my feet and hide behind Dumbledore’s telescope before he can lose his temper.

There’s silence. I feel the potion beginning to edge off, and when I look over the top of the brass telescope, Snape is sitting in Dumbledore’s righted chair, his finger running up and down the ivory handle of the erotic looking object. I shift, slightly, and he looks straight at me, but doesn’t move. His fingers all drop. His thumb circles the raised end of the handle, and he smiles.

Well, that isn’t right! My brain is befuddled, and Snape is doing strange things. It isn’t fair on me to make it worse… I want the calming potion (if that was what it really was) to wear off entirely before Snape does anything else, but he’s not going to give me that chance. He stands up, putting the object down, and comes towards me with dark, sepulcher eyes.

Those eyes… They don’t move off me, and they freeze me to the spot. I feel like I’m watching Death coming towards me, his bony finger pointed out towards me. He places his hand on my shoulder and I cry out in fear. How did he get so close?! Oh yeah, the drugs. I stumble back from him, but he catches me, and he moves closer, his breath heavy.

He says, “If anyone is going to do the fucking, Potter, it’s me.”

I yelp and try to pull away, but he’s leaning over me, and it’s almost as if his dark eyes are burning, even though I know they can’t. Voldemort’s eyes…they burn. In more than just the physical, burning me by looking at me kind of thing… They’re like hot coals. But Snape’s eyes…they’re black, and yet they burn. I haven’t got a word for it yet, but I’m working on one with my sluggish mind. It keeps me distracted as he kisses me.

I don’t even think about how he could get away with this in Dumbledore’s office. I don’t question the fact that the portraits have all suddenly disappeared, or are pretending a little harder than usual that they are sleeping. I don’t really care. There’s someone kissing me…and it’s a man. And I didn’t write that story! It’s not my sick fantasy! Why oh why is this happening to me?!

Snape kisses a little harder when he doesn’t get a response, and when he draws back, I can see something in his eyes…pain, maybe. I don’t quite understand. If he wants this, then why is he hurting? It’s me that’s having the rough time of it!

“Well, Potter?” he asks, darkly. “I was good enough for you in your story…I do hope you’ve not changed your mind.” Changed my mind?! I try to hit him, but he catches my hands and pins them back. “Oh yes…” he purrs, and his voice is seductive and dark, but still I can see that he’s hurting with every word that he drips. “You wanted to be in control, didn’t you? Such a shame…”

I try to fight now, a little harder than before, because Snape’s large hands are getting under my enormous shirt, pushing it off before I can stop him. The armpit tears in the process as I fight against temporary restraint, but right now I couldn’t care less. I just want to get my nails into Snape’s face and perform emergency facial surgery with my nails.

A little more coherent now, I ask him why he’s doing this, and he just says that it’s ‘necessary’. I suppose it must be Dumbledore’s idea instantly, before thinking it over, and when I do, I realize it must be true. After all…Dumbledore had just given us his office…and Snape seemed to have no reservations about doing what he was doing. 

Well, that upset me. After all, I hate people planning my life for me. I managed to wriggle feel, and I really hit him this time. It makes a nice series of track marks across his cheek, and I smirk. “Oh look,” I say, “Now you’re scarred too, Snape. Don’t you love being famous.”

Snape is angry…very angry. He pushes me firmly down onto the ground and pins me into place, so that I feel trapped. Then again…I’d been tied up at Voldemort’s mercy; Snape doesn’t scare me. Well, I’d like to think that Snape doesn’t scare me, but he’s taking off his heavy black robes and revealing his sickly, thin body, and it’s really not nice. I mean…I know all the stuff about the casual observer; but really… 

Snape’s nothing special. For a fourty year old, he looks as tired and skin on bone as Dumbledore. And it doesn’t look good on him. He looks constantly ill; near starved, in fact…and if you’ve seen him eating you know why. His skin is sallow everywhere; clearly not just an effect of potions on his hands and face. And his hair…! Don’t even get me started.

But somebody has convinced Snape that I actually like his body…and somehow this fits in with one of Dumbledore’s weird plans for me, because he’s let him in here, let him do this. “This is ridiculous,” I complain, and Snape looks at me darkly, but says nothing.

He climbs to his feet, and I watch him, sitting back up again and rubbing my wrists as he moves over to the desk. He picks something up, and recovers a potion from on top of the desk, returning to my side before I get the sense to move.

“The Headmaster thinks,” Snape says, while I glare at him. “That having you lose your virginity is important; and since you’ve shown such a…strong interest in me, that I should be the one to do it. I have no interest in you, Potter…and if you say a word of this to anyone when we’re done, I shall make sure that nobody ever sleeps with you again, assuming you live longer than the Dark Lord.”

“Voldemort,” I spit, because I don’t really know what to say about the rest of it. Dumbledore has decided that Snape has to bugger me? What part of my life doesn’t he control?!

Snape growled, but I just smirk silently at him. His response is to undress the rest of me, and that was about as disarming as he could get. I don’t really know what to think, or what to say, and the calming potion is still there niggling at my rebellious Gryffindor half; just about stopping me from really preventing this.

Even though I hate Snape… Even though this is a set up… Even though it’s Dumbledore’s dirty plan… I just feel that it’s so much easier just to lie there. So I do…

And really, it isn’t that bad. Snape has excellent hands. Oh, I’m just filthy, aren’t I? I tell you that he’s a disgusting, slimy git…but that his hands are fantastic. Well, they are… They are spell-casting hands and potion-making hands. I try not to think about who they belong to, because they’re touching me intimately. Stroking… So nice…

But, well…he’s being a bit abrupt about it. No sooner does my rebellious teenage body begin to respond, but he’s doing less pleasant things with his hands – turning me over and ruthlessly exploring my arse in a most imposing manner.

I groan and close my eyes as his thumb pushes inside. I say “Do you mind?!” and he looks down at me bored and pushed it in further. That feels weird. I don’t like it at all. It’s wrong. Besides, I know what’s going to come after that, and I’ve had enough. I’m not just going to lie here and let Snape and Dumbledore rule me!

Of course, Snape knows I’m not interested. He seems to have figured it out, what with all the fighting, and when I try to move, I find that I can’t. He twists his thumb around and takes it out, then shifts about me. 

Something blurry appears in front of my nose, and he moves it in and out until I manage to focus on it. It’s the thing off the table and it’s…covered in something. I blink, trying to move my head, but I find I can’t even do that. And Snape’s moved the object away again, and I don’t want to know what he’s going to do with it. Well, I know what he’s going to do with it…but that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant.

In it goes…and surprising it doesn’t hurt. It’s covered in something of course, some strange concoction of Snape’s no doubt. It feels like nothing…it makes the thumb feel big, even though I know it’s bigger because I saw it. There’s that strange feeling…but no pain or true discomfort. I scowl, because if it had hurt, I could have screamed, and got my revenge on Dumbledore, the meddling old fool. It’s not like I needed help losing my virginity, after all! I’m a sixteen year old boy!

Snape moves it…and this I can feel. It is a most bizarre sensation…not exactly nice, but not horrible either. I can’t help but shudder, because I know it’s not going to stay that way. I should be fighting the restraints holding me…but I’ve already tested them. Somehow I have no choice in the matter. Me! It’s my virginity, after all!

But Snape isn’t on this planet with me… He’s so trapped in his own bitterness at having to do this on Dumbledore’s orders that he hasn’t even asked me if it’s what I want. If I could move I’d probably slap him again. It’s infuriating, because when he’s angry he loses that sharp intelligence that makes him such a brilliant academic. And should I really be complimenting him? No. Stupid, stupid Snape. 

Close your eyes, Harry…it’ll all be over soon. Maybe you can convince Ron to Obliviate you? On second thought, that’s probably not the best idea, is it?

I hardly feel the object slipping out of my body, but when Snape moves up against me - all hot heat against the backs of my legs, and warm breath on the back of my neck - I definitely feel him, and I know I’m doomed.

Again, the strange potion makes it feel oddly painless when he enters. Maybe it’s that coupled with the strong dose of calming potion. It’s not like I’d been afraid of, anyway; and though I can feel the width of him as he penetrates me, stretching my body, I really can’t complain. I drop my forehead onto the silk carpet and shut my eyes tightly.

I know, I know. It’s Snape. He’s doing filthy things. Doing things that I, in my right mind, never would have let him do… But I’m not in my right mind. And if I was, I’m bound down. How am I supposed to resist that? Snape is inside me…inside. And even if I called him a filthy bastard, would it really help? No…I don’t think so. Better not to make him angry when I’m in such a tentative situation. And though I hate him; hate him with every essence of my body - I just have to let it happen.

And happen it does. Snape begins to move…and just like before I can feel such strange sensations in me. But there’s more this time: when he pushes inside he is at some strange angle, and he touches something that makes me moan like I’m dying. I don’t mean to make such ridiculous noises…but I can’t help it. It’s like…like he’s pressed a light switch inside of me, and when he moves out it flicks off again, and I need him to touch it again.

I need him. Well, that’s a funny thing, isn’t it? But I do. He’s done something to me, broken something in me which had been keeping my inhibitions in track. But now I want him to do whatever he’s doing…which is clearly not the conventional way that these things are gone about. After all…Snape’s a man. And not just a man; there’s a whole plethora of things that go against him… But I need him. It’s so stupid.

So I say ‘more’, and Snape doesn’t look so damn hurt any more. Instead he moves forwards with more determination, and I moan and close my eyes, pressing back against him when I feel I can, but mostly just laying there and letting the pleasure roll through my body.

As he speeds up, so the switch is pressed more and more, and I pant and beg ridiculously (Me! Begging Snape!). There’s no hope now…I’m lost, diving over a horizon in my blurry world, losing even that dim façade of sight. I cry out as I come, trapped as I am on the uncomfortable floor, ruining Dumbledore’s carpet carelessly.

Snape has a remarkable recovery. As I lie there like a floppy tea-biscuit, he stands up, redresses and cleans everything up, before helping my languishing body back into it’s clothing. When Dumbledore comes back in, we’re sitting in seats at his desk (or rather, Snape has propped me up vaguely in one of the chairs), and he offers us coffee, rather than tea.

The coffee is rich and odd-tasting, like the tea, and I remember thinking that I really shouldn’t accept drinks from Dumbledore any more. Of course I shouldn’t; because when I’m next coherent enough to understand the goings on of the previous night, I’m stretched out in my bed, thoroughly bewildered, and Ron’s looking at me as though he’s slept too long; his hair all stuck up like mine, at funny angles.

I don’t think they’d believe me if I told them…but Snape still does give me the strangest looks in Defense Against the Dark Arts class; as though he’s expecting me to come begging for more. He’ll be bloody lucky…


End file.
